Limbo Lodge (16 page)

“Why?
Why
?” he cried out woefully. “Why can’t she just be an ordinary person?”

“Well – you gotta face it, Frank – she
ain’t
an ordinary person. And maybe if she were you wouldn’t fancy her so much.”

“I don’t know – I just do not know,” he said miserably. “I’ve travelled all over the globe – I possess a larger collection of Ancient and Interesting Games than anybody else in the Western Hemisphere – but I have never felt like this before, and I do not know what to do.”

“Best thing you can do,” said Dido practically, “is to collect all your games together and get yourself off this plaguey island and back to Lunnon Town and cheer up poor old King Jamie. That’s summat you
can
do – and you’re the only cove as can do it, seemingly. So that’s what you must do. If we can get ahold of Cap Sanderson and the
Siwara.
”

And she sighed.

Funny thing, she thought, when we were on the
Siwara
Doc Tally didn’t seem anything out of the common. O’ course then she was putting on an act, letting on to be a man – both Mr Mully and I twigged that, and very likely Cap Sanderson did too and thought it none of his affair – but then she was just like anybody else, seemingly, an ordinary enough young feller-me-lad. It was coming ashore on Aratu changed that. Doing that job on Mr Mully in the hospital – wonder how he’s getting on? – and that game with the bowl of water in Manoel’s yard – it was then I began to feel there was summat havey-cavey about her. No, not havey-cavey – but spookish. Maybe meeting Manoel again kinda twitched her. It must be a bit creepy to meet a feller that you are pretty sure once stuffed you in a clay pot and chucked you off the Cliff of Death. It’d sure make the cold slithers run down
my
back. And then the night she put in with Yorka’s auntie, the old Kanikke lady. I guess that was what really changed her . . .

“Fancy, Frankie,” she said. “I believe that’s a house ahead of us! I reckon the Memory Bird brought us to Mr Ruiz’ residence.”

They were at the end of a long open glade. The customary fragrance of clove, cinnamon, djeela, ukka, and frangipani was now augmented by woodsmoke and the savour of broiling meat. Dido remembered – not for the first time – that she was ravenously hungry.

Mario Ruiz’ house was perched against a slope of hill covered with tree ferns. It was neither in the wocho nor the Angrian style of architecture, being long and low, solidly built of logs, with a wooden shingled roof. The windows were screened and there was a stout door. An open stable or shed was built on to the end of the house. Patches of corn, okra, plantains, and coffee bushes grew in front of the building; fruit trees grew beyond it. All seemed orderly and peaceful. A man sat reading on a sawed-off log near the front door. He was a tall, skinny individual, an Angrian, with bushy, rusty grey hair and a deeply lined, gloomy face. He stood up, bowed as they approached him, and addressed himself to Lord Herodsfoot.

“Greetings, senhor! Salutations! You do much honour to my poor residence.”

With a brief glance at Dido, Ruiz went on, “Tell your peon to stable the horses in that barn. Allow me to offer you a glass of wine.”

This cove is supposed to be a bit off his rocker, Dido remembered; when I said that I hoped he was harmless, Tylo said – what
did
Tylo say? . . . Still the guy seems quiet and friendly enough – it sure is lucky how almost everybody
does
feel friendly to Frankie right off – I will say that for him.

Reaching the stable Dido received a shock. For there was Tylo’s pony, tied up, peacefully munching fodder, along with a mule and a few goats.

Dido’s first impulse was to rush back to the house and find out if Tylo was there; her next was to see to the horses and look about her, before following the two men indoors. If Tylo
is
here, then, she thought, he’s all hunky-dory; the nag seems well enough – and it never does harm, in a strange place, to check around, take a gander, count the exits and mark the loose floorboards. I wonder where the hot spring is that Tylo spoke of? Along there by the bank, maybe, where all those tall grasses and reeds are a-growing?

Remembering the hot spring made her feel thirsty; she thought, here’s a well, anyhows, and a bucket on a rope. I’ll take some water to the nags and drink a mouthful or two myself. Wouldn’t trust the feller’s wine. I jist hope Herodsfoot has the sense not to drink too much of it . . .

She was about to lower the pail into the well when, looking over the stone coping that encircled it, she received an even more atrocious shock: down below the rim she could see the head of Tylo, just above the level of the water.

“
Tylo
!” she gasped.

He heard her, but could not reply; a bandage was tied over his mouth.

“Here – haul yourself up!” whispered Dido, dropping the rope’s end to him. But he shook his head and raised his hands; she could see that they were bound round and round, tightly together, with yards of cord.

“Croopus – I’ll come down and get you.”

This proved not at all easy. The well was narrow: Dido had to undo the bucket and go down head-first, binding herself to the well-rope by a travelling loop which – very fortunately – she had learned from a petty-officer on H.M.S.
Thrush
– then, hanging head-down, she had to undo Tylo’s hands. The rope around his wrists was too tight, and by now soaked with water, for fingers to be of any use here; she had to work herself back up the rope, extract Herodsfoot’s knife from his saddle-bag, then slither down again and saw through the strands round Tylo’s wrists. All this had to be done very quietly; she was terrified that Ruiz might come out and discover what was going on.

Even after Tylo’s wrists were free, his hands were at first too weak for him to be able to pull himself up, and Dido, hanging head-down, was not able to do more than support his weight and rub his wrists until, at last, by a few nods, he was able to assure her that now he thought he could climb out. Dido retreated up the rope, then lay flat on her stomach by the well and helped haul Tylo upwards. With a huge gulp of joy and relief she saw his bandaged head appear over the rim of the well, and dragged him out on to the grass. Then with the knife she cut off the gag over his mouth.

“Golly-heyo – Shaki-miss!” he gasped.

“
Oh, Tylo
!”

They hugged each other frantically. Tylo was slippery, coated in slime, since he had been sunk in the mud at the bottom of the well up to his neck.

“Think I sink much more too soon!” he said. “Think I sink over here.”

He laid his hand across his eyes.

“But why did that man
do
it?”

“He noddle-stricken.”

“You can say that again!”

“He think his mother send me.”

“Why the pest should he think
that
? Or why should that put him in a pucker?”

“I bring him a bunch of toro fruit I see hang on vine.”

Tylo explained that the mother of Ruiz had once tried to poison him with toro fruit (or so he had thought at the time) so it was a most unfortunate piece of bad luck that Tylo happened to arrive carrying the same gift. Ruiz had at once gone berserk and flown at Tylo. He was as strong as a gorilla.

“But maybe, by now, golly-likely, he forget all about me.”

“Tell you what,” said Dido, “put on one of Herodsfoot’s shirts – I see he’s got two spares in his saddle-bag – then you won’t look the same and most likely the cove won’t recognise you.”

Tylo did this – laughing heartily and admiring himself; for the shirt was Lord Herodsfoot’s best, with fine frilled cuffs – and then they went cautiously into the house.

All indoors appeared entirely peaceful and orderly. It was plain that the first thing Herodsfoot had spotted in Ruiz’ living room was a game-board and a pack of cards. The two men were sitting at a small table, completely immersed in a game, which seemed very complicated, for it required cards, dice, ivory counters, as well as the board itself, which was marked out in squares. On each of these was a different emblem: hearts, anchors, crosses, horses’ heads, bells, hammers, and swords. The men had glasses of wine beside them, but were so occupied with the game that neither player seemed to have taken more than a sip from his glass. A jug of wine stood on a shelf, a pail of water on the floor.

Dido stepped quietly around behind Lord Herodsfoot, picked up his glass, and emptied it back into the jug. Tylo, with a nod, performed the same service for Ruiz. Then, sniffing the jug, he took it outside and emptied it on to a plantain, before refilling it with water.

Dido began scanning the house for food. She found the meat that Ruiz had been cooking on a spit over the fire, but by now it was burned black, and inedible; he had forgotten all about it. But there were some plantains, which she sliced and fried, and a loaf of corn-bread, fruit, and a bowl of hard white goats’ cheese.

She wondered whether to disturb the two men at their game by offering them a meal, but Tylo, in a whisper, dissuaded her. “
We
eat, Shaki-missie; let them play. Play game – very teryak.” He used a Dilendi word that Dido had not heard before, but his gesture made its meaning quite plain: he smoothed his hands in curves in the air as if calming a stormy sea. And Dido could see for herself that absorption in the game was quelling some of Herodsfoot’s miserable feelings about Talisman, about how in the world she had contrived to preserve his name, mockingly written in the dust, through a tempest that had torn up whole trees and tossed boulders like peppercorns. Ruiz, likewise, seemed commendably calm and even cheerful; every now and then he laughed with pleasure as some cunning move of his foiled one of Herodsfoot’s gambits. It seemed he was the better player – not surprisingly, since he must spend most of his time playing this game against himself.

Dido and Tylo enjoyed a sustaining meal, then she persuaded him to lie down and sleep on Ruiz’ bed – a straw-filled mattress on a wooden frame.

“I’ll call you, right off, Tylo, if there’s any trouble,” she whispered, “but I reckon you’re in the right of it, the longer those fellers play, the better it’ll be for ’em. You sleep now, and I’ll get a bit of kip later.”

Tylo, who had suffered for at least five excruciating hours, standing in the well, slowly sinking, and not expecting to be rescued, was very glad of the chance to sleep, and nodded gratefully. Dido lit a teaberry candle, sat on a treestump stool, and peacefully watched the two men, wondering how many hours the game would last.

It lasted until dawn. Finally Ruiz shook his last dice, slapped down his last card, and swept all the counters off the board.

“I win, senhor! But, Mother of Light, what a game! The best I ever played! You are a champion player, my friend. I wish you might remain with me for a year.”

“Alas!” said Herodsfoot. “There is nothing I would like better, my dear host, but I must return to my own land. The king there lies grievously sick, all for want of a game such as this, to raise his spirits and make the blood run more quickly through his veins.”

“Then you must take him this one!” cried Ruiz enthusiastically, pushing cards, counters and dice into a leather bag. “Take it as my gift to the king of your land.”

“No, no, I must not do that,” said Herodsfoot, though he looked extremely tempted. “You are here alone in the forest, you need your game. I remember it, I will have a copy made.”

At this, Ruiz seemed mortally offended. His weathered face darkened to a dusky plum colour.

“If you do not take my gift, senhor, I am dishonoured!”

Oh heavens, now what, Dido thought. Is Herodsfoot saying no to his offer going to knock the cove off his perch again? Surreptitiously she nudged Tylo and wished she was near enough to Herodsfoot to kick his ankle.

She caught his eye and mouthed the words; Take it!

Ruiz glanced angrily about him, all the good effects of the game apparently wiped from his mind. Dido tensed her knees under her, preparing to spring across the room and grab his arm if he suddenly assaulted Herodsfoot.

Then, just at that moment, there came a knock at the door and a voice – two voices – cried: “Hello, there! Is anybody at home?”

R
UIZ, INSTANTLY DIVERTED FROM HIS ANGER
, walked to the door and opened it. Outside, to Dido’s huge joy and relief, were the three people that, out of all the world, she could most have wished to see: Talisman, Yorka, and Captain Sanderson.

“My stars! Are you a sight for sore eyes!” Dido whispered to Yorka, hugging her, while, with a deep bow, Ruiz ceremonially welcomed Captain Sanderson, assuring the new arrival that everything in the establishment was entirely at his disposal. Yorka and Talisman he appeared not to notice.

Tylo quietly led the two horses of the new visitors off to the stable. Then Ruiz turned to inspect Talisman and his eyes dilated.

The sun was hot by now, and Talisman had adopted the Angrian style of women’s head-gear, wrapping a huge green ukka leaf over her hair and fastening it with a thong of grass. Despite her men’s clothes, this made her look unmistakably female, and the sight of her did something drastic to Ruiz’ fitful temperament: his eyes flashed, he flushed a dark angry red again, snatched up a sharp knife from a shelf, bounded with tigerish speed to where Talisman stood just inside the doorway, and hurled her to the ground. There he held her with one hand clamped around her throat, and the other, grasping the knife, less than half an inch from her left eye.

“
Now
!” he said, between heavy gasps of breath, “this woman – I can tell – is an accursed sorceress – as was my wife – as was my mother – I can see that,
very
plainly – so, give me one good reason why I should not kill her at once and rid the world of a pest?”

Talisman, perfectly calm, lay looking up into the face of the madman.